Based on the 2012 movie. Crowe!Javert is not my favorite (not by a long shot!), but that noose put ideas into my head. Warning, this is definitely non-con and contains a cruel Enjolras.
Javert leaned his cheek against the banister he was bound to and closed his eyes. His head still pounded from the blow he took trying to escape the barricade, and he could feel the dried blood of the wound plastering his hair in place. The heavy noose around his neck was not tight enough to strangle him, but it prevented him from moving more than a foot or so in any direction. He dearly wished to lay down and rest, even on the hard and dirty cafe floor, but even that little comfort was denied to him. Instead, for the past few hours he'd knelt nearly immobile, knees aching and hands bound and useless.
The front door creaked open, breaking the dim stillness of the room, and a tall, blonde student entered. Javert knew him as the leader of the little band of revolutionaries, a firebrand called Enjolras. He was the one who had clubbed Javert over the head, knocking him senseless and tearing a gash in his scalp.
Javert watched with slitted eyes as Enjolras crossed the room, his footsteps soft and slow on the floorboards. The young man (hard to think of him as a man, Javert thought-he was no more than perhaps twenty-five) stopped at one of the tables, picked up the bottle of wine that stood there, and tipped it to his mouth. He took a single swallow, replaced the bottle, and then crossed the room to where Javert was bound.
"Your drunkard friend is wearing off on you," Javert growled, casting a quick glance to the back corner where the one they called Grantaire was passed out in his chair. Two empty brandy bottles lay on their sides in front of him, a small puddle congealing beneath the lip of one.
"A sip of wine does not a drunkard make," Enjolras said. He leaned one elbow against the banister, gazing down on Javert with icy blue eyes. With one hand, he lazily reached for the noose rope and gave it a light tug, as if testing it. The loop tightened almost imperceptibly, but the motion pressed it briefly against Javert's Adam's apple and forced him to swallow. His face remained as impassive as ever, but he could feel his pulse racing. A gunshot to the heart or head-that was a good death, perhaps not painless but over quickly. But the feel of the rope sent dark thoughts through his mind of being left helpless and struggling for breath, strangling by degrees until exhaustion won out.
Enjolras smiled then, without joy. "Fear and death cause us all to drop our inhibitions, I think." The young man bent down then and grasped Javert by the hair, tilting his head up at a painful angle. He stood staring deep into the older man's eyes. Javert caught the scent of wine and gunpowder on the young man's breath and clothes. After a moment, Enjolras whispered, "Are you afraid, spy?"
"The righteous have nothing to fear," Javert choked out. "Can you say the same?"
The young man released his grasp and turned away, and Javert let out a long breath and closed his eyes again, again resting his head against the cool wood of the banister. Then he heard an unmistakable sound: the clanking of a belt buckle, and the rustle of fabric. His eyes shot open. Enjolras stood in profile to him, in the process undoing his trousers. To Javert's shock, the young man was half-erect.
Enjolras turned and approached Javert, reaching down to regain a grasp on the older man's hair. He made no move to force the issue, but the intent was clear.
"What will you do if I refuse?" Javert asked. His voice was soft, but seeded with derision. With the other hand Enjolras reached over his head and gave the noose rope a firmer tug. This time the loop did tighten, enough to cause Javert to gasp involuntarily as the knot tapped against the base of his neck.
"You understand?" Enjolras asked softly, dangerously. Javert scowled, but nodded, and with a slight hesitation took the younger man's member into his mouth.
Javert closed his eyes in concentration, not willing to look up at the handsome blonde student before him. The scent of the younger man's arousal mingled with the gunpowder and alcohol, and the combination formed a knot in his stomach while at the same time causing an unwelcome twitch deep in his groin. It disturbed Javert down to his bones, and tried to force the feeling away while simultaneously working to finish Enjolras off as soon as possible. At first the young man didn't move and simply allowed Javert to do all the work. Javert inexpertly ran his tongue over the head and down the shaft of the cock in his mouth, swallowing against the taste of the bitter and salty pre-ejaculate.
After several minutes, Enjolras's grip tightened and he pulled Javert closer, enough to press the rope against his windpipe but not quite enough to strangle. He struggled to breathe around the intrusion forcing its way down his throat.
"Harder," Enjolras murmured harshly, his voice thick and strange with arousal. Javert chanced a glance up and saw the young man's head thrown back, his blonde curls falling away from his face in ecstasy. The sight increased the warm sensation in Javert's groin, and he groaned inwardly from shame. How could this-this-abuse possibly be arousing him?
Javert redoubled his efforts at finishing the man off quickly, doing his best to quell both his gag reflex and his building erection as he sucked and licked around the younger man's cock. Enjolras began moving his hips in a rolling motion, and Javert fought down panic as his air intake was blocked again and again. With a final thrust, he heard a cry from the young man above him, and his throat was flooded with salty, bitter ejaculate. He was forced to swallow in order to continue breathing, and his eyes watered from the effort.
Finally, after several long moments, Enjolras pulled his softening member from Javert's mouth, leaving a trail of saliva and semen trailing down his lower lip. As Enjolras turned away, Javert hunched forward as far as he was able and spat what remained of the younger man's ejaculate on the ground. Even now he could feel the insistent throb of his own erection, and hoped against hope that Enjolras would not notice. He sagged sideways against the railing of the staircase, trying to slow his breathing and steady his pounding heart.
Enjolras cleaned himself with a rag from one of the tables, re-fastened his trousers, and then disappeared into the back room for several minutes. When he emerged, he was carrying a ceramic pitcher and a glass. He poured from the pitcher into the cup, then set the pitcher down on a nearby table and moved to kneel in front of Javert. With one hand, Enjolras reached behind Javert's head to the noose knot, and to Javert's relief, loosened the loop a fraction. Then he cupped a hand lightly behind Javert's head and brought the glass to the older man's lips.
Wary, Javert only allowed a small sip past his lips at first. When he found the liquid to be plain water, he relaxed and began to drink as greedily as Enjolras would allow. The water washed away some of the bitter aftertaste from his mouth, and beaded in his beard when he became too enthusiastic. Eventually, Javert drained the glass and Enjolras took it away and set it on the table with the pitcher. Then returned to kneel in front of the older man.
Javert gazed back at the young man, noting that the icy blue eyes seemed to have lost some of their chill. Javert was exhausted, too tired even to glare at Enjolras. The young man cocked his head to the side and bit his lower lip as if in thought. It made him look much younger than he was, and more unsure. Javert simply gazed back, waiting.
Enjolras's gaze traveled from Javert's face down to his body, and the older man tensed. Javert knew Enjolras had spotted the spy's not-yet-faded erection when a cat-like grin broke out across the young man's face. Enjolras reached down between Javert's legs, pressing the heel of his hand firm against the older man's groin.
"You thought, perhaps, I would not see this?" Enjolras asked as he slowly massaged his prize. Javert found that he had no breath to answer, and instead squeezed his eyes shut as maddening arousal overtook him. The shame that had coiled in his stomach when his mouth was being violated now heated his face and made him wish he could shrink away to nothing. But caught as he was between the railing and the young man, with the noose an ever-present weight at his throat, he could do nothing to avoid this indignity.
With deft, sure hands, Enjolras pleasured Javert through the fabric of his trousers, sometimes squeezing, sometimes rubbing, sometimes simply dragging his fingers over the throbbing bulge. Javert fought to keep his breathing steady, to focus his mind elsewhere, but with each exhalation a soft moan escaped his throat and burning humiliation writhed in his stomach, coupled with a fiery anger. Yet Javert felt his resolve weaken and exhaustion take over as he drew closer and closer to orgasm. The young man seemed to sense it, and his movements became rougher, nearly painful as he pressed and squeezed and rubbed. When Javert finally came, it was with his head thrown back, groaning with pleasure that was too close to agony. He felt a sticky wetness soak into the front of his trousers and dropped his chin to his chest, panting.
To his surprise and dismay, the young man did not cease his ministrations, though his hand worked a bit gentler than before.
"Stop," Javert croaked when he had finally regained his senses enough to speak. Enjolras tilted his head and gazed at Javert again with a thoughtful look on his face.
"No," the young man said simply. He continued at the same pace and strength. Javert clenched his teeth against the overpowering sensation rooted deep in his groin.
In less than a minute, the stimulation became an unbearable, burning ache, and Javert whimpered, cursing himself for weakness. There was no arousal in this-only a sense of overstimulation, of too much, too soon. "Stop," he said again, louder and breathless, his voice gone high-pitched with tension. Enjolras persisted, focusing his attention on the head of his cock, chafing it against the damp wool fabric of the trousers and causing Javert to twitch and writhe beneath the unforgiving touch. Javert felt he would go mad, his thoughts overwhelmed and scattered by the desperation of his body. He looked up at Enjolras with wide, panicky eyes and half-shouted, half-sobbed out, "Please!"
After a moment, Enjolras slowed his hand and several seconds later, withdrew it. His eyes never left Javert's face.
Javert fell back against the banister as far as the noose would allow, panting and shivering. Unshed tears glistened in his eyelashes. His eyes clenched shut and he tried to will himself to be anywhere else, anywhere but this filthy cafe floor, tied like a dog and humiliated by a schoolboy.
"You see," Enjolras spoke softly. "Even pleasure, even goodness, controlled by an unassailable force, is pain."
"Was this meant to be an object lesson?" Javert murmured. His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears, and suddenly the absurdity caught up with him and he choked out a sound that may have been a laugh in saner times.
"Perhaps," Enjolras replied. There was no humor, no warmth in his voice. "They are always the most painful kind, but also the most enlightening."
Enjolras rose from the floor. He leaned over Javert, adjusting the noose and the knots that bound the older man's hands. For the space of a few breaths, Enjolras clasped his hands over Javert's bound ones and caressed them gently, a gesture the older man could not interpret. Javert did not move, or utter a sound. His eyes remained closed. After several moments, footsteps crossed the floor, and then Javert heard the door open and shut again. He was alone.